


The Holly and the Laurel

by blue_pointer



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Rome, Come Eating, Emperor Tony, Gladiator Bucky, Historical Inaccuracy, Historical Romance, History mash-up, King Rhodey, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Prince Sam, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut, Tony may be a sex addict, gladiator steve, some stucky, winteriron
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2019-01-05 06:14:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12184515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_pointer/pseuds/blue_pointer
Summary: Empress Nympho, move over! Stark Antony is Emperor of Rome now.When a gladiator game goes sideways thanks to the antics of two Celtic slaves, the emperor's interest is piqued. But is one night of fun worth losing a perfectly good gladiator?





	The Holly and the Laurel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MassiveSpaceWren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MassiveSpaceWren/gifts).



> This is not historically accurate in any way. 
> 
> However, modern MCU names didn't work so well for this historic setting, so:
> 
> Tony ~ Stark Antony, Emperor of Rome  
> Rhodey ~ King Phillip of Rhodes  
> Sam ~ Horus Ptolemy, Prince of Egypt  
> Bucky ~ Cuileann, Celtic slave and gladiator  
> Steve ~ Sean O'Niall, Celtic slave and gladiator

Stark Antony loved showing off. Whenever his best friend, the king of Rhodes was in Rome, Antony enjoyed spoiling him with gifts of riches and luxuries. He would order only the rarest of delicacies be served, and of course Antony personally took him to see all the sights of the capitol whenever Rhodes visited. This week Antony was receiving a visit not only from his best friend, but also Rhodes’ cousin (by marriage), Horus of the Egyptian Ptolemies. Horus was one of the younger sons of the Egyptian royal family, and as he was not successor to the throne, he had the freedom his elder brothers did not, to travel and study, and write. At twenty, his science treatises were already famous. Antony looked forward to many an engaging conversation with him.

Prince Phillip revelled in all manner of athletics, and so they were currently enjoying gladiator games at the Colosseum. While Rhodes focused on the arena, Antony and Horus engaged in a game of Senet. “I don’t know why you bother,” Rhodes told the emperor over his shoulder. “You know he always beats you.”

“Contrary to what my father always said, defeat builds character,” Antony replied. “At least...off the battlefield.”

With a smirk, Horus won for the third time in a row, and Antony frowned, doubting himself. “Perhaps I should make you my strategy advisor,” the emperor said.

“You couldn’t afford me,” Horus grinned.

They were just setting up again when Phillip’s shout provided a welcome distraction from Tony’s inevitable fourth defeat. “Would you look at him go! That’s ten in a row!”

Horus, ever curious, rushed to the balcony to stand by his cousin. “He’s so pale,” Ptolemy said. “How does he survive in the sun so pale?”

“I hear even the living Celts look like corpses out of their robes,” Phillip said.

As neither of them were paying attention to him, Antony chose to join them, though he’d seen so many gladiator games, he found them boring these days. “Not everyone is fortunate to possess the radiant dark skin you have, my friends. Next to the two of you, even I look pale.”

“You are pale,” Horus smirked down at him. He had such a wicked smile, sometimes Antony could have sworn he was flirting. The crowd erupted in a roar, startling him out of his musings.

Antony peered over Horus’ shoulder and saw the Celtic gladiator standing victorious over one last, large foe, raising his sword to the cheers of the crowd. He was wearing nothing but a loin cloth. What had happened to his armor? The custom shield he wore over his left arm seemed all he had left. Antony suddenly wanted to see more of this Celt. Everything, as a matter of fact.

“Do you have any more Celts?” Rhodes asked, excitedly. “This one is quite the fighter. I’d like to see him oppose one of his own.”

The emperor turned to his master of gladiators, raising a quizzical eyebrow.

“Of course, my liege. I’ll have them bring out another Celt at once.” He told a runner, who sent word to the gladiator trainers.

While they waited, Antony drank more wine and pondered the losing moves he’d made in their last game of Senet. He’d always been told he was clever, but Horus seemed to beat him effortlessly every time.

“I hope you’re enjoying yourself, at least,” he told Rhodes.

The king smiled. “If you hold special gladiator games every time I visit, I promise to come to Rome more often. These new fighting styles are fascinating.”

But Antony was already bored. He was far more interested in the machines of war than the technique of foot soldiers. He referred Rhodes to the master of gladiators for further discussion on fighting styles, then sat down and took out parchment and pen to work on another one of his designs. He was just getting into the zone when the noise of the plebes interrupted them again. Rhodes was off to see what the masters had brought out. He shielded his eyes against the glare from the man’s alabaster skin.

“Unreal.” Horus leaned out over the edge of the balcony, taking in the pale-skinned Celt as if he were a new species all together.

Even Antony’s curiosity was piqued when he looked at the newcomer. “Where are his weapons? He has nothing but a shield.”

“What an unusual color of hair!” Horus said.

“And you thought the last one was pale,” Rhodes said.

“I feel like I should get out my journal and take notes!” Ptolemy declared.

“Quiet,” the emperor said. “They’re going to fight.” The two men circled one another, taking in the other’s strengths and weaknesses.

“Are they dancing?” Rhodes asked.

“Is that how Celts dance?”

“One of them should have attacked by now.” But it had been far too long, and the two kept circling. The crowd became impatient, starting to shout and boo, calling out for the two men to fight. Antony looked back at the master of gladiators. “Why aren’t they fighting?”

He bowed apologetically. “I do not know, my liege.” Another fighting master stepped forward to whisper into his ear. “Perhaps…” The master was still listening. “Perhaps the two men know one another. They may be from the same tribe in Hibernia.”

“Well that’s no reason not to fight.” The emperor rolled his eyes.

Horus gave him a strange look. Antony walked to the edge of the balcony and dropped a kerchief. “FIGHT!” he shouted down.

More runners fled from the master of gladiators. Trainers stepped into the ring, gesturing at the two Celts, but it made no difference. More gladiators were sent in, and the two men immediately set about defeating the new foes. Rhodes gasped at the way the fair-haired one used his shield almost like a chakram, throwing it to disable his foes before catching it again mid-air. The first Celt continued, fighting in tandem with the second, guarding his flank with the arm-shaped shield, defeating any who came too close. The crowd loved it, but before long, the two Celts were once again the only fighters left in the arena. Standing back to back, they refused to fight each other.

The crowd jeered. Produce was thrown. “Fight him!” the emperor bellowed, giving the signal to begin again. But the two Celts heeded no one. Trainers entered the ring and took their weapons in hopes that they might at least be convinced to grapple bare-handed. And for a moment, Antony thought they might.

They turned toward one another, and the fair-haired one was suddenly on the first, only...it quickly turned into something quite unexpected. The two men locked lips, and then they were down on the ground, but what they were doing was most certainly not wrestling. “Oh,” Antony said, pleasantly surprised. “You know, I’d never thought to ask gladiators to perform...thusly.”

“Wow,” Horus said.

“Whoa,” Rhodes said.

Antony bit his lip. “And all this time, we’ve been making them fight!”

But the plebeians were less amused. Items of all kinds were being thrown into the arena. And if the Celts continued for too much longer, from the sound of the crowd, there could be a riot. The emperor sighed. Plebes just didn’t know good entertainment when they saw it. “Stop them,” he told the master of gladiators. “Have them brought to my chambers. Once they’ve been...cleaned.”

Horus’ eyes flashed desire. “Can I have the fair one? I find him...intriguing.”

Antony smirked. “Will you teach me how to win at Senet?”

Horus pretended to consider. “Yes. But not against me.”

The emperor laughed.

*

Rhodes wasn’t interested in being privately entertained by one of the Celtic slaves, but he did ask Antony for one of them. “I’d like to take him back to Rhodes to train with my army.” He was negotiating details while they waited for the gladiators to be brought up, one to the emperor’s rooms, one to Ptolemy’s.

Antony nodded. He supposed it was only fair that he gift the dark-haired gladiator to Phillip after gifting the other to Horus. But that left him with no well-muscled Celtic fighters in his bed, and he was less enthusiastic about that bit.

A commotion in the hall drew them both to the door. When he went to see what the matter was, imperial guards were working to separate the two Celts, who were jabbering at each other in one of those confounded Celtic languages. The fair one looked desperate, clinging to the dark as if he might lose him forever should he let go. And, Antony supposed, that was exactly what was about to happen. But they couldn’t know that yet.

The dark Celt was more calm, speaking in an even tone, as if reassuring his companion, trying to convince him of something. But the fair one went ruddy and began to weep--how embarrassing!--and the guards had to yank them apart. At the last, the dark one reached to cup his friend’s face and kiss him, and then they were divided, taking different paths down the hall.

“Well that was dramatic,” Rhodes deadpanned.

“Barbarians,” Antony said, as if that explained it all. They made themselves comfortable and waited for the Celt to be brought in. Finally, he stood before them, silent and sullen, his light, eerie eyes glaring a challenge at them.

“Don’t look so gloomy, son,” Rhodes told him. “We’re here to offer you a promotion. You look like someone killed your horse.”

“You...kill?” he asked in rough Latin.

“No,” Rhodes told him. “No kill. Job. Train.” The Celt looked confused, and Antony was relieved he’d summoned the gladiator trainer along with one of his interpreters.

“Explain it to him,” he drawled, already bored. So bored. But how much more entertained would he be in his big, big bed with the two of them crawling all over each other? Hemming him in from both sides?

The three men spoke for some time, part Celt, part pidgin. “My apologies, your highness,” the armsmaster bowed, embarrassed. “He says he will not train your Greek soldiers to fight like Celts.”

“Oh really.” Rhodes didn’t look pleased. “Tell him he’ll be paid handsomely. His own house and the pick of my concubines.”

There was a pause as the interpreter relayed the message. “I’m so sorry, your majesty; he still says no.”

“So, what? He’d rather stay here and be a gladiator? Is he insane?”

The other man shrugged. “He may be, your highness. These Western barbarians...”

“No,” the Celt said. “Want this one.”

Rhodes blinked. “You want to choose the Emperor of Rome for your prize?”

That tickled Antony. He hid his smile behind an acanthus leaf and giggled.

“Him,” the Celt said again. “Want him.”

“Well you can’t have him, you filthy beast. He’s the emperor of Rome; have some respect.” But even his insults seemed to have little effect on the Celt’s determination. If anything, he became even more sullen and insistent, clenching his fists and glaring a challenge at Rhodes.

Antony stepped in before a wrestling match ensued--not because he didn’t love seeing people fight over him, but because he didn’t think the gladiator could do it without drawing blood. And if he were to draw blood, even the emperor wouldn’t be able to save him from Rhodes’ temper. “It’s alright, my little harpy. I think I can handle this one on my own--unless…” He glanced up at his friend. “You’d care to join?”

Rhodes rolled his eyes with a look of disgust. “You’re going to soil yourself by coupling with one of these primitive creatures?”

“Maaaybe,” Antony pouted. “Maybe I just want the eye candy. You said yourself they’re unusual to look at.”

“That doesn’t mean I’d bed one,” Rhodes said. But he knew Antony too well to be scandalized. “Amuse yourself, my liege. I’ll be in my quarters. With my wife.”

“Oh, now who’s soiling themselves?” Antony teased.

Rhodes gave him a warning glare before striding from the room. When Antony nodded, the interpreter and master of fighters followed.

“So.” The emperor whet his appetite by gently nibbling a grape leaf. “Tell me more about how you want me.”

“Want you,” the Celt said, backing Tony up against the lounge in an almost forceful manner that made his heart race.

“How?” He batted his eyelashes at the great brute, nearly a full head taller than he was.

The Celt leaned close, and he smelled like oiled leather and sweat and the dust of the arena. “Free me.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Free me.”

Antony was taken aback. This was not the rough tumble he’d been expecting. “Are you saying you’re still fighting as state property?”

“Free me,” the rough voice repeated, callused hands sliding over Tony’s hips to capture him in strong arms.

The emperor gave him a devious glance through thick eyelashes. “Are you going to give me a reason why I should? Maybe I like owning strong, dangerous things.”

“Free me,” the Celt whispered, brushing chapped lips against his own in a teasing promise before withdrawing, expectantly.

“But what will I get in exchange?” Antony asked. Strong hands lifted him off his feet and crushed him between his hard body and the wall, then backed off and demonstrated another one of Antony’s favorite positions, and then a third. The fighter held him from behind, dragging his rough beard across the emperor’s jaw. “This.”

He had to get himself under control. This...this was far too exciting. Antony took a few breaths, unable to get enough air with the long, lean body pressed against him in this position. “I’ll make you a proposition,” he suggested. “Perform for me, and then I’ll decide if it warrants your freedom.”

“No.” The gladiator abruptly let him go and stepped away, leaving Antony feeling cold and alone. This one was a beautiful specimen. But was it worth losing him for a night of consent? How did he know the brute would even keep his word? He took a step forward, until he was close enough to rest a curious hand on the muscular chest. “And what will you do when I free you? Leave, I suppose.”

“Home,” the Celt said.

The emperor sighed. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

He suddenly felt fingers twining in his hair, pulling. “You come.”

Antony’s eyes widened. “You want me to come home with you?”

“You come.” The man nodded.

“You really are a silly fig.” He shook his head. “And what on earth am I to do in Hibernia? Live in a roundhouse? Made of wattle and daub? But you’re a sweet lamb for offering.” He pinched the man’s cheek.

“I see you...when fight.” Oh, this sounded to be an explanation that required more words than he knew.

“Yes, I imagine you would…”

“See...you.” He pointed to his eyes, then to Antony. “You no see me.”

He shrugged. “There are many gladiators in the ring. I can’t say it’s my favorite sport.” And he was usually enjoying different entertainments in the imperial box.

“See you.” He watched the machinations going on behind those eerie pale eyes as the barbarian tried to find the words. “Handsome.”

That made Antony smile and preen a little. “A barbarian with an eye for beauty. How unusual.”

His fingers still in the emperor’s hair, the Celt tugged Antony’s head back a little, baring more of his throat. “Want.”

“You...you saw me from the arena, and you…” His stomach felt funny. Could it be this base slave had desired him merely for his beauty? No, no, certainly not. But was this man possessing of the intelligence to manipulate him?

“Free me,” the man asked more gently, looking into his eyes in a way that let Antony see the desire lurking there.

“Oh...alright.” He hadn’t even registered that he’d agreed before he was being tossed onto the bed like a sack of grain and mounted like a ewe.

“Stop! Stop!”

The Celt stopped, one leg already up and over Antony’s hips. “Stop? You not want?”

He sighed, sliding his palm up those rock-hard abs. “No, I do want, but…” He bit his lip. “Well, if this is to be our one night together, I’d like to take our time.” The man showed no sign that he understood what that meant. “Draw it out. Make it last longer.”

“Longer?” He shed his leather kilt and Antony was treated to what the barbarian meant by longer. It was not unimpressive.

He whimpered softly, biting his lip again. “No, sweet. Not that.” He lifted the sheet, tucking it around slender hips to keep the temptation out of the way for the moment. The Celt just looked at him, quizzically. “Come.” He gestured for the gladiator to join him on the pillow. “Lie with me. Let’s talk a little.”

“Talk.” He was like a dumb animal.

“Yes, talk.”

“Talk, not want?”

He whined again. “Yes, want. But talk first.”

The fighter looked at him like he was crazy, but lay down obediently, stretching out just far enough away to make for a good view. “What’s your name?” Antony realized he didn’t know, and it bothered him. He didn’t often need to know his sexual partners’ names, but in this case, especially because he’d be losing him right away, Antony wanted to know it.

But the Celt didn’t seem to understand. “What are you called?” Antony said, pointing at his pale chest. “You. Name.” He pointed at himself. “My name is Tony.”

“Tawny,” the man repeated. Antony nodded. It was close enough.

“Now you. What is your name?”

He pointed to himself. “Cuileann.”

“Kwee-lunn.” He tried to imitate the sound the man had made. The Celt shrugged. Apparently he’d come close enough. Antony snaked an arm around the tall man’s neck. “Kiss me, Cuileann.” When he puckered up, the Celt seemed to get the picture, putting his mouth on Tony’s.

His lips were rough, but his kisses were hot, and Tony stopped caring very quickly. It was nice kissing a man with a beard, as well. It was somehow more...manly, fit Antony’s tastes better. What was the point of kissing a man whose face was smooth as a woman’s? He wound fingers into the long hanks of hair, twisting them in his hands and using them to keep Cuileann close.

He wasn’t sure when exactly it happened, but suddenly the Celt was on top of him. Antony sighed happily. He loved that special feeling: the weight of a grown man pressing him down into the mattress. He moaned, undulating against the naked form above him, feeling Cuileann’s cock stiffen against his thigh. He was so tall. So ridiculously tall.

Antony wrapped his legs around him, holding their bodies close. He let go the Celt’s hair and sent his hands exploring. Cuileann’s rippling muscles were exciting, but he’d had athletes; what excited Antony more were the scars. All of the scars from his arena matches, and no doubt some actual battle scars as well.

While Tony’s hands explored, Cuileann rubbed against him, his lips parted in a sigh. Antony wanted more. He pushed him back, hands on his shoulders. “Undress me.”

The Celt’s brow furrowed. Antony showed him, unclasping his toga. “Undress me.” The words Cuileann muttered in Hibernian were likely not their equivalent. “Of course I’m demanding,” Antony told him. “You want to sleep with the emperor, I’m going to make you work.”

With a defiant look, Cuileann tossed aside his toga and tore his undertunic, opening it at the tear to get access to Tony’s body.

“How dare you?” he said. “I happened to like that tunic.”

But Cuileann was on him again, his mouth devouring Tony’s, and now that he could feel bare skin against his own, it was much more difficult to focus on being outraged.

He ducked his head to lick Tony’s chest, gently teasing his nipples, making him whine. His callused hand gripped Tony’s cock and stroked it firmly, demandingly, while his beard scratched and lips kissed. His tongue licked its way down Tony’s body.

Antony was poised for oral gratification when strong hands grabbed his hips and flipped him over. He felt himself spread open and then that wicked mouth was eating his ass, tonguing his hole. He writhed, moaning. And the Celt did not stop. One of his hands stroked Tony while the other snuck fingers inside him, curling and prodding.

He was talented. Antony felt as though he was being devoured in the best possible way. But suddenly he was close to orgasm, and it was too soon. He wriggled away. This was not how he’d planned to finish. He turned and pulled the big man down on top of him, grinding against him, panting into his mouth.

Then Cuileann pulled away, and Tony was outraged again. He stepped to the table and picked up a decanter of olive oil. The barbarian made sure Tony was watching before he raised it to his chest and poured it down the length of his body. As it dribbled down toward his stiff cock, Tony licked his lips, gestured for Cuileann to come closer. He sauntered back to the bed, rubbing the olive oil all over his skin until his body glistened.

Antony grabbed his hips and jerked him close, licking the swollen tip before swallowing his cock. Cuileann groaned, gripping him by the hair but letting Antony set the pace. He gripped the Celt’s ass and slid a finger inside him, fucking him while he fellated him. With a whimper and a groan, Cuileann was shooting hot cream down his throat, and Tony allowed it, drinking it like fine wine.

Finally, he lay back with a smirk. “Want,” Cuileann told him, lying back down on top of him. “Want.” He pulled off the remains of Antony’s tunic and threw them aside.

This time Antony didn’t even care. It had been too long since he’d felt desired like this. Oh, his lovers were good at pretending, but he could never shake the feeling he was being humored or flattered. That was not the case with Cuileann. And if his fervor and verbal demand for Tony were insufficient, there was the tangible fact that his cock was already swelling for him again, rising to the occasion of pleasuring him all night.

“Oh, you do want!” Tony moaned, delighted, grabbing it in his fist. “I want, too,” he whispered, kissing him back, hungrily. The olive oil on his skin made them slide against each other deliciously, and suddenly Tony found his knees getting shoved back against his shoulders. “You want to kiss me while you take me?” It didn’t feel as good like this, but it was nice to be able to watch your partner’s face while you took your pleasure from them.

“Handsome,” Cuileann said, kissing Tony gently on the lips. He raised one hand to his face, stroking his shaved cheek, and Tony’s eyes closed. Could this be real? Surely he was being manipulated.

Then it didn’t matter, because a thick head was probing his entrance. He gripped the Celt’s pecs, sliding his legs over broad shoulders, trying to get more comfortable in the cramped position. Oh, his cock felt amazing. Thick and slick and it kept going and going. Tony’s eyes rolled back in his head. When was the brute going to be fully-seated? He groaned when he felt Cuileann settle, finally, and gripped his hair, pulling. “Fuck me,” he hissed.

The barbarian drove into him so hard, he moved Tony back across the bed, almost causing him to hit his head on the wall. Cuileann threw up an arm at the last moment, catching them. Then he was pounding Tony down into the feather mattress, hard enough to hurt, but in the best possible way. Tony whined and writhed, scratching and groping, needing more to hold onto than just his shoulders.

Seeing that Tony wasn’t getting full pleasure out of their rutting, Cuileann pulled out and repositioned, turning the little emperor on his side, tossing one leg over his shoulder before he thrust back in. This was better. Tony moaned, fists balled in the sheets. When a rough grip settled over his erection, he thrust into it, pushing back against the big cock inside him and fucking Cuileann’s fist.

He was so close when the organ of his pleasure disappeared again. He was just about to start shouting in outrage when a firm grip on his hips turned him over on his stomach. Two sharp slaps to his buttocks and that thick cock was sliding back in, rough hands jerking him back hard on the length inside him, impaling him with each thrust. Tony came with a strangled cry, soiling his sheets and not caring a bit. Before he could collapse into the wet spot, strong arms lifted him away, pulled him against the pale, muscular body, cradling him against Cuileann’s chest.

Tony moaned happily, stretching. “That was good,” he mumbled before falling fast asleep.

 

He awoke in the night to an erotic earthquake taking place both under and on top of his body. Cuileann was inside him again, taking him again, raining sweet kisses on Tony’s face as he fucked him, hands stroking and petting him everywhere. The emperor had never been treated like this. Never been taken without his request. Never been desired past the point of discretion, past the point of adhering to sexual etiquette.

He gripped the gladiator’s ass, digging his nails in, preparing to tell him to get off. But the way Cuileann hissed and moaned... His cock had found that secret place inside Tony, making him weak in the knees. He scratched and whined, moving against Cuileann, wanting more. Moments later, when the Celt finished inside him, he was incensed.

“I didn’t give you leave to do that!” Ejaculating inside him? That was just bad manners. But Tony found himself flipped over again, manipulated like a child’s toy in the gladiator’s strong hands. And then a bearded mouth was on him, licking and probing.

“Oh my...gods, you’re drinking it out of me?” He wasn’t sure what to say to that. But it felt too good to argue. His own cock was beginning to stir, and Cuileann’s fingers helped, teasing him back to fullness. He ground against that callused hand while the barbarian cleaned him with his mouth, actually sucking his essence back out of Tony.

He came hard, soiling the sheets again. He should really summon servants, have them changed. This time when Cuileann lifted Tony against him, he scrambled up, using the man’s entire body as his personal mattress. “Don’t move,” he ordered, pillowing his cheek on the man’s clavicle and trying to get comfortable. He fell back to sleep with Cuileann stroking his bare behind soothingly.

When Tony awoke, he was alone, carefully wrapped in sheets, positioned away from the wet spot. But that wasn’t the point. The point was, by the light of the brazier he could see Cuileann dressing to go, pulling on his chest armor.

“Stop,” he said softly, causing the man to look up. Clearly he’d thought Tony still asleep. “I don’t want you to go yet.” Why had he freed the slave? To be mounted twice and then abandoned like a bed boy?

Cuileann walked toward him, kneeling down to look him in the eye. “Late. Must training.”

He reached out to grip the gladiator’s arm. “You’re not going back to the fighting pits. You’re free now.”

“Free,” Cuileann agreed. “Fighting. Money.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Tony rolled over, still holding tight the man’s arm. “You don’t need to fight for money now. I’ll give you anything you want.”

“Sean.”

What did that word mean?

“Money. Sean.”

“Is that how you say money in your Celtic tongue?”

He shook his head. “Free Sean. Money.”

Oh, Sean was a person. “Is that your friend?” How did Tony mention he’d just gifted him to Ptolemy?

Cuileann nodded.

“You needn’t worry about your friend going back to the fighting pits either.” He reached out to smooth back a lock of Cuileann’s wild hair.

“No fighting?” He looked understandably suspicious.

“No fighting,” Tony told him.

“Where? Where Sean?”

Now Tony was becoming annoyed. Why was his new pet so focused on his fellow Celt when he had the emperor’s full attention?

“Stay,” he told Cuileann, trying to change the subject. “Stay here with me. No practice today. At least give me a full day before you go off to begin your life of freedom.”

“Free.” He cupped Tony’s face, looking at him with such affection, he almost felt guilty for having given his friend away.

“Please?” He batted his eyes, shifting back on the bed to make room for the pale-skinned beauty. “I’m cold.”

But all the fighter did was stand to grab one of the many furs at the end of the bed, dragging it over him and tucking him in with a gentle kiss. “Warm.”

Tony freed his arms to twine around Cuileann’s neck before he could step away. The Celt smiled, and it changed his face in ways Tony couldn’t have imagined. Such a gentle, sweet-faced barbarian under all that beard. He kissed Tony again. “Late.”

Tony was very close to throwing a temper tantrum. “How can you leave after all I’ve done for you?”

But Cuileann just kissed him again. “Night, Tawny. After.”

Tony’s stomach flip-flopped. “You’re coming back?” Did he dare hope?

The gladiator nodded. “Back. After.”

Tony pulled him close, suddenly desperate. “Be careful. I want you back in one piece, sweet.”

This time it was certainly a goodbye kiss, Cuileann holding him close and tasting his mouth fully before letting go.

“ _Salutamus_.” Tony wasn’t even sure what to say to that. Was it meant to be ironic? Serious? Just inappropriate? He wanted to find a Latin tutor for the beast. Struggling to understand him was far too taxing.

Cuileann left, and he collapsed back into bed, feeling sore and abandoned. He called servants to prepare him for the baths. In his current mood, he might soak and sulk all day.

**Author's Note:**

> Steve's and Bucky's gladiator match was inspired by [this](http://img.chan4chan.com/img/2011-12-11/sport.jpg) installment of [OGLAF](https://oglaf.com/). (Warning, links are NSFW)
> 
> Big ❤ to [MassiveSpaceWren](http://archiveofourown.org/users/MassiveSpaceWren), who gave me the prompt of Gladiators for this week's key exchange.


End file.
